Waiting
by YouBuyMeOrangeJuice
Summary: Holly picks Gail up after Gail testifies in a particularly difficult trial. This one short sort of just happened.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't even know, this just happened. However far along in the future you wish.**

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You're finally allowed to hop off the stand after what felt like years. You don't let your head fall until you're pushing the doors open. When you finally peel your eyes from the marble floor she's the first thing you see. Tall and wholesome and beautiful and just a bit weird; Holly. The bailiff says something to you about bravery or courage or something or other. Your uniform itches. You manage a response but what you're really focussing on is unbuttoning your collar, and looking at her. She's leaning slightly against the wall; so casual but so confident. She could have been waiting for hours or seconds but no one would be able to tell. It's so natural. She's smiling at you. It's not jubilant or joyous; her lips are closed; she's letting you know she's there, that she'll wait for you right here until you're ready. It's the most comforting smile you've ever seen. Her hands are plunged into the pockets of her long coat. She's not looking at her phone, she's not examining her fingernails, she's not cleaning her glasses. She's waiting for you. She's waiting like she's been doing it her whole life. She's waiting like she'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day. She's waiting like it's something she finds a silent peace in. And you know. You scold yourself a little because of course she's waiting for you. You didn't know how long you'd have to wait before they called your name. You didn't know how long you'd be sitting up there. You didn't know for sure what questions the defense was going to ask. The prosecutor guessed, helped you prepare, but you weren't sure. What you knew is that she'd be waiting. And you know. She couldn't come in; she has to testify too, but she was waiting outside.

Tonight you'll fall asleep with her wrapped all around you, your face burrowed safely under her chin, and you can't wait.

As you cross the hallway in her direction her lips begin to part slowly. Her smile goes crooked and wavy and real.

You croak out a "hey," and the relief you feel to see her shines through everything else as you smile weakly.

Her smile shrinks as she returns your "hey." It's quiet and calm. Not a hushed whisper but a quiet response; she's only talking to you. Somehow in the echoey bustling halls of the courthouse she spins an intimate cocoon for you. Her voice is a soft embrace that you never want to leave. She's doing that thing where she talks out of the side of her mouth and you almost can't stand it. And you know. Your hands are limp at your sides and you feel her fingertips lift your's slightly and her thumb brush lightly over your knuckles.

You tell her "let's get out of here," and she responds with a smile as she pushes herself off the wall. She's waiting for you to lead the way out, probably so she can walk a quarter of a step behind, part protector and part companion, but you don't move because you know.

"Marry me," you say, as you look her right in the eyes. It's not a question but a wish disguised as a statement.

Her mouth opens slightly and her head falls a little to one side. She's appraising you, giving you time and quiet to rescind if you want. But you don't want to take it back. You know. So you just look back at her. A faint smile starts to ghost it's way across her face and you hope it's because she's confirming that you meant it. "Right now," you break eye contact as you nod over to the winding marble staircase, "let's go upstairs." You glance at your watch, "it's not five yet."

Her smile's gotten bigger and happier, maybe a little curious. "I don't think that's really how it works," she almost chuckles and her eyes sparkle at you.

"What do you mean?" You furrow your brow because you don't know what she's talking about; you want to marry her right now. You think you need to.

She squeezes your fingers a little and swings your hands lightly, "you have to get a license first, Officer of the Law."

You deflate a little, "oh right." Of course you knew that. How could you forget? Well, this sucks. You start towards the exit slowly, "so, is that a 'no'?" You ask with a little trepidation and some childlike snark as protection.

"I don't recall being asked a question."

You suppose she's right and you hope it's always like this.

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**A/N: This kind of just happened. Maybe there's a part 2? I'm not ****really sure...**


	2. Chapter 2

You toss the book onto your nightstand and it lands unceremoniously with a crumpled thud. You've been reading it for twenty minutes but if you were given a first grade comprehension test you would fail. You started reading before bed because Holly reads before bed. It seemed very adult and worldly so you tried it. Some nights you really like it and some nights you'd rather listen to Chloe's thoughts on upcycling hubcaps. You tried to start a new book tonight but that clearly didn't work. You know the cover's red. You get points for that, right? You can't get the image of her just standing there out of your mind. How could she be so perfect? It really isn't fair at all. You decide that you want her to pick you up from everywhere you go; every day from work, from the grocery store, the bank, the bakery, everywhere. You can't tell her that though, it'd be creepy and weird and needy. You drum your fingers on the comforter and let out a puff of air. Actually, not true. She'd probably smile her realest, most crooked smile, and say something unpredictably clever as she kissed you. It's been a long day. You want her to hurry up and come to bed so you can burrow into her and finally close your eyes, but, alas, she's puttering around in her study. Well, _the_ study. That's what she keeps telling you. But you don't need an office and you rarely ever go in there, because why would you? The food is in the kitchen, the television and video games are in the living room, the nice sheets are in the bedroom, and the shower's in the bathroom.

You hold your hands up to the ceiling and examine them. Dov said something about your right pinky being really bowed. He can looney but you want to know if he's right. _Obviously_ you didn't want to look in front of him. You turn your hands, examining them from different angles. You're holding your pinkies flush against one another scrutinizing them with one eye closed when you're sure you've been shot in the shoulder. You quickly drop your hands and twist your neck to the side. An impeccably folded paper airplane has crash landed on your shoulder and is now resting on your sheets. You draw your eyes up to the doorway where Holly's head is peeking out from around the door jam. She slides in a little ways and drops to one knee, drawing her arm down in front of her face while quietly declaring, "direct hit!" It's so weird but she's just wearing underwear and an oversized t-shirt so it's also incredibly adorable.

"Okay, _Kevin McCallister_," you hesitantly joke as you reach for the paper craft.

She laughs as she hops to her feet and bounds over to the bed, diving under the covers to join you. You spin it around in your hand for a minute and you can tell there's writing on the inside so you do your best to unfold it carefully. You can see in your peripheral vision that she's lying on her side with her head propped up on her hand. She's probably looking at you with an expectant smile.

You turn the paper so that the words are right side up. It's a form and you read across the top "_Ontario Marriage License Application_". You read the title three times. She's filled it out in her nice handwriting. What they say about doctors is true; her handwriting can be atrocious when she doesn't care or when she's rushing or if she intends to be the only one to read what she's written. Your handwriting isn't that great. It gets the job done. It's a little edgy and unique and you like it for that. Flowery handwriting makes you want to cut your fingers off. But she used her _nice _handwriting on the form. It's clear and elegant and crisp. It's just the right size. Nothing is crammed or runs over the lines but it's also not microscopic. You run your eyes over it again and again. She's filled it all out. Your birthday, place of birth, and your middle name. She even put in your mother's maiden name and your parents' place of birth. Ontario isn't that hard, they're both practically made _of_ Toronto, but still. She left your '_religious denomination_' blank because _as if_. She just left the spots for your signatures blank. You didn't know she was going to do this. Surprise silences you. She filled the _whole_ thing out without warning. You were kind of worried she thought you were joking, or only said it before you knew what you were saying. It was almost a little unnerving how unfazed by it she seemed. You look over it a couple more times and you're not sure if it's real. Maybe you fell asleep waiting for her to come to bed and this is all a dream. You wiggle your toes and you can feel them so you look up at her, "so do we sign in each other's blood or something?"

She smiles that smile and rolls over, reaching toward the nightstand. It's the smile reserved for when you've surprised her and she thinks you're being untraditionally charming but doesn't want to encourage you too much. "I think a pen is traditional," she sasses and turns back over holding up a black rollerball, "but if you really want we could."

You know she's joking but you can't help but think that she'd do it if you _really _wanted to, and that's one of the reasons you grab the pen as quickly as you can, popping the top off, and twisting around you sign it against the headboard without second thought. She hasn't signed it yet and she still could say 'eh, no thanks,' but you sign first anyways because you know she won't. You dot your 'i' and then slide it her way down the headboard. She takes hold of the paper and pen and you flop back around, untwisting your back. Her signature puts yours to shame and she slaps the pen and paper onto her nightstand. She shuffles down the bed and rests her head on the pillow smiling up to you.

You're feeling so many things and you can't feel them all at once. They're fighting to get out, fighting to be known so you throw the covers over the two of you and pinch them down above your head. It's a sorry excuse for a sheet fort but you like being in it with her. She can make little cocoons of safety for you anywhere and everywhere. She spins them out of smiles, tilts of her head, quiet words, discrete touches, and warm eyes. You don't know how to do that like she does so you use sheets and blankets. She laughs as you tangle yourself up in her, nuzzling her neck and you can't help but emit a squeal. You pull your head back a little and ask "sure you're okay with being stuck with me?"

Her smile somehow gets wider and she looks you right in the eye and says, "definitely more than okay," and then she kisses you on the lips. You're disappointed when she pulls back after only a few moments. She pokes you weakly on the shoulder, a gentle scolding, "you need to find your passport," she insists.

You smile mischievously, "where are you taking me?" Your mind takes off with the possibilities. You hope it's somewhere warm but not too hot, not too close to the equator.

"The registry silly," she laughs, "you need two I.D.'s, Peck."

You let your eyes drift slowly around in their sockets as you nibble on your lip. You know it's in one of twelve-no, fourteen places. You grin guiltily at her and admit your lack of organization with a "fuck."

"Yes please," is her response and you hope it's always like this. You're pretty sure it will be.

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**A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this little two shot! If there's any one or two shots you want fic-ed give me a shout and I'll give 'em a shot :)**


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